


Candide

by Sapph



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Gen, puppy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 14:01:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2272464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapph/pseuds/Sapph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He almost walks right by the tiny black blob hidden in the shadow of the large garbage container.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Candide

It's been quiet lately. Normally he would take advantage of the calm, get some paperwork done or read a book and enjoy the silence, but Skye's away dealing with some technical issues at the Playground and he can't help but feel like they're unbalanced somehow. He misses the way she drags him into conversations, how she laughs when he says something unintentionally stupid, the way her eyes soften when he frowns in confusion.

 

He tries but his nerves won't settle. When he sits down in the lounge he feels exposed, when he hides in his bunk he feels lonely, when he wanders to the lab he can't go in because he's not certain they want him around.

 

They tell him he's earned this second chance, that he's doing well, but he doesn't share their confidence -there is something _off_ within him, something broken, and every time they smile his way the cracks spread like the lines of a spider's web.

 

He thinks that maybe some things can't be fixed and Skye was right that day she called him weak -perhaps he's too brittle to do more than just survive.

 

\---

 

He almost walks right by the tiny black blob hidden in the shadow of the large garbage container. It doesn't make any sound when he stops in his tracks, just looks at him with crusted eyes and a hopeless expression. His throat tightens and he steps closer without even thinking, slowly crouching down in front of the hunched form as not to startle it. The puppy lifts its head suspiciously, its thin frame trembling from the cold, but it doesn't bother to move. He isn't sure whether it's sick or simply tired.

 

He reaches out a hand for the puppy to sniff, taken aback when a tiny pink tongue darts out to lick his fingers instead. He gently strokes the side of the puppy's neck before scratching behind its ear, uncaring of the dirt that gathers beneath his nails. When the puppy all but crawls forward, he doesn't hesitate to lower his knees to the filthy ground, staring in awe as the tiny form huddles against him, its nose twitching as it smells his knee before licking his jeans.

 

The action makes his eyes sting and laughter well in his chest, he pulls the puppy into his lap and meets no resistance, just trusting eyes that break his heart.

 

He doesn't know what to do.

 

Coulson's expecting him back in 20 minutes, not enough time to take it to shelter if there even is one open at this time, but he cant' leave it here -can't leave it in this alley like trash.

 

Perhaps he can convince Coulson to let him bring it on the plane for the night and find a place tomorrow. He zips his jacket around the tiny form to shelter it from the cold and carries it through the darkening streets. He can't help but worry Coulson will be upset by the delay, or that May won't allow a dog on board. He knows that if Skye were here there'd be no issue, she'd coo over the pup and wouldn't take no for an answer -but she isn't and he's not sure how they'll react.

 

He doesn't think Coulson would harm an innocent creature but there's no guarantee he won't get angry.

 

And _he_ is not innocent.

 

\---

 

“A puppy,” Coulson repeats for the third time. Grant shifts beneath his unreadable gaze and clutches the black pup against his chest, soothingly rubbing the back of its neck when it whines. His shoulders are so tense he fears he might start to shake, so he bites the inside of his cheek and waits for the reprimand.

 

“Okay,” Coulson says.

 

His head shoots up in surprise. “Okay?”

 

“Yes, why not,” Coulson replies, brow furrowed in thought. “Give it a bath though, before it gets mud everywhere, and I'm sure there's some left-over chicken in the fridge.”

 

For a few seconds all he can do it stare, until the man's expression turns from thoughtful to concerned. Grant nods quickly, mutters a thank you while shuffling backwards and carries the mud-soaked animal to the bathroom.

 

He's surprised at how much filth washes out off her dark coat, but the puppy doesn't seem to mind much. It's a girl, he checked before setting the squirming pup down and detaching the shower head. When the water finally clears up, he gently cleans the dog's eyes with a wet tissue and retrieves one of his combs to untangle her hair, carefully cutting away knots that are simply too clotted together to unravel. When he's done, he sits back and watches the puppy explore the room, turning every now and then to look his way, as if to make sure he's still there.

 

He bites his lip and ignores the ache in his chest .

 

He's distracted from his thoughts when the puppy climbs into his lap. Roughly wiping at his eyes, he picks her up. “Let's get you some food,” he murmurs as he cradles the frail form in his arms. She looks much better now, fluffy and warm, but he can feel her bones even through her thick midnight coat.

 

He feels the flutter of her heart beneath his fingers and think he might have forgotten how precious life can be.

 

\---

 

He cuts off another piece of chicken and chuckles when she all but snatches it from his fingers.

 

“She must be starving,” Trip comments, watching him feed the excited puppy whose tail hasn't stopped wagging since he pulled the container from the fridge.

 

Grant hums unintelligibly, too focussed on his task to take note of the other agent whose probably only here because FitzSimmons apparently prohibited anyone from entering the lab hours ago.

 

When May walks in a little while later to the sight of two specialists playing with a tiny black pup, all she does is raise an unimpressed eyebrow.

 

\---

 

“I can't keep you,” he says sadly when she nestles into his lap, tired and sated, burying her nose between his curled fingers. “They'll find you a family,” he promises, rubbing along the bridge of her nose. “Someone who deserves you, who can take care of you and give you all the love you need. Someone good.” He frowns and attempts to swallow around the lump in his throat, before adding in a whisper. “Someone who doesn't destroy everything they touch.”

 

There's a thud and curse and he looks up into Simmons' wide-eyed gaze. Fitz hoovering awkwardly at her side.

 

“Everything alright?” he asks, startled.

 

“What? Oh yes, don't worry,” she hurries. “Just stubbed my toe. Silly me.”

 

It takes an effort not to flinch when she all but runs to sit down next to him on the couch. “Coulson said we had company,” she says, excitement colouring her voice, and reaches out to pet the drowsy pup, chuckling when she squirms and stretches her legs.

 

He rests his hand on the tiny body, rubbing his thumb back and forth through her dark fur, and smiles when she sighs deeply.

 

“I think it likes you,” Fitz says, leaning against the armrest so he can peer down at the dozing pup. “It kinda looks like a shepherd.”

 

“She,” he corrects automatically, recoiling when Fitz moves his hand only to place it on the back of the couch so he can lean in closer.

 

“Well, _she_ is very beautiful,” Simmons chimes, but the overly cheerful note in her voice tells him she noticed.

 

He's embarrassed and utterly grateful they don't call him out on it.

 

\---

 

He wakes up to the rough texture of a dog's tongue being dragged along his cheekbone. “Go away,” he mutters, turning his head into his pillow. A wet nose presses against his ear, breath tickling his skin. He squirms. “Stop it, Buddy.”

 

He reaches up to push the dog's head away, but when his hand meets fur, it topples and falls to mattress -it snaps him right out of the memory. He sits up and look down at the puppy who's begun to clamber all over his legs.

 

He can't help but smile at the sight even though he knows he won't ever see it again.

 

“Come one,” he says, scooping her into his arms, “lets find you a family.”

 

\---

 

“It's a terrible idea,” Coulson mumbles.

 

“Sir?” Grant asks, confused and trying in vain to carefully put the squirming black pup into the carrier Simmons had given him. He'd stared at her in horror before she'd rolled her eyes and reassured him she was not in the habit of experimenting on puppies and had brought it along in case they needed to contain a foreign specimen. She'd waves away his apologies with grace even with Trip laughing in the background.

 

“It's a terrible idea,” Coulson repeats.

 

He squares his shoulders and forces himself to look up. “Should I not put her in the carrier?”

 

The older man just shakes his head. “No,” he says, which only serves to increase Grant's bewilderment. “You know what, yes. Keep her.”

 

He freezes. The pup yaps and kicks her legs where he's holding her out in the air. “What?”

 

The other man sighs. “I said you can keep her.”

 

He's not quite sure what's happening.“Keep her, sir?”

 

“The dog,” Coulson says, giving him an odd look. “Keep the dog.”

 

There's a beat of silence where he blinks once, twice, and asks again, “keep her?”

 

“Yes, Ward,” Coulson replies slowly, sighing in exasperation though there's a hint of amusement in his eyes. “You can keep the dog.”

 

It takes all the strength he has not to burst into tears.

 

\---

 

Skye's right there when the cargo ramp lowers and even before it has hit the ground, Candide goes running.

 

“You know,” she says, crouching down to pet the dog even as her gaze settle on him. “She kinda looks like you.”

 

He rolls his eyes but can't stop his lips from twitching when she laughs.

 

“Well Candy,” she says -because when has Skye not given someone a nickname- “welcome to the family.”

 

 


End file.
